


Our little secret

by Kahoot4life



Category: Eminem (Musician)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-30 23:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17838242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahoot4life/pseuds/Kahoot4life
Summary: In the face of the media, will Dre and Marshall let themselves act on their true feelings for each other? Can they afford to?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who has about six essays she hasn't even started but instead chose to write this? That's right, me!  
> Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own any characters involved in this story :)

Pale, freckled skin. Dimples and baby-blue eyes to match bleach blond hair. Full, pouty lips adorning his features. Bright yellow jumpsuit. Sure, it wasn't what Dre was picturing, but he could certainly work with it. The kid could barely meet his gaze, kept his eyes glued to the floor. However, every time he looked up, Dre managed to catch a glimpse of wide, ocean-blue orbs that resembled a pair of jewels. His knees were trembling with nerves and his palms had been clammy when they shook hands. He couldn't stop the soft smile from spreading across his face and the sudden burst of affection at how nervous Marshall obviously was.

"Listen man, I think the shit I've heard from you so far is fucking incredible and I would really like to work with you," Dre stated, amused by the shell-shocked expression his words caused. 

Marshall's jaw dropped and he remained speechless for a few seconds, trying to process what he had just been told.

"B-but you're the Dr Dre. I watch you on TV all the time; you're one of my biggest inspirations in...life!"

Dre felt an unexplainable feeling at the awe shining in the other man's eyes. He couldn't help but feel a certain sort of attraction to the man sat in front of him. He couldn't deny that he was real pretty, perhaps even gorgeous, despite the dark bags underneath his eyes. Dre was startled, and slightly disgusted, at his own trail of thought. He tried to brush away the feeling however, the task was proving itself to be impossible. Even after they had left Interscope and were instead lounging in his personal studio, his eyes always lingered for a second too long and he felt himself craving more after every bit of physical contact. Every time Marshall let out a carefree, joyful laugh, Dre felt a chill run down his spine. He cast away his reactions to the other man as excitement over the fact that he had just discovered a brand new artist, making a point to ignore the little voice in his head that knew otherwise. 

* * *

'Hi kids! Do you like violence?  
Wanna see me stick Nine inch Nails, through each one of my eyelids?   
Wanna copy me and do exactly like I did?   
Try 'cid and get fucked up worse that my life is?'  

As Dre had predicted, the kid blew up, an overnight sensation. With the release of the Slim Shady LP came millions of album sales, praise from every direction and instant fame. However, as always, fame came with a high price. At that point, the world at large seemed to be expressing their opinions about Eminem and unfortunately, at least half of that world despised him. Every time Dre tried to bring it up, Marshall gave a nonchalant shrug, although his shoulders visibly tensed up and a troubled look entered his eye.

Dre had learnt that life at home wasn't all sunshine and rainbows for Slim either. Between the crazed mother and the bitter wife, he had had to witness numerous breakdowns, the worst of which would generally end with Marshall passed out on Dre's couch, head on his lap while Dre subconsciously ran a hand through his cropped, blond hair in a soothing manner.

A brisk knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts. He fondly rolled his eyes. There's only one person who could be at his door at the ungodly hour of 2 AM.

"Hey Dre, listen I know it's late and I'm not supposed to be here but I got something I need to tell you. I...sort of may have...lost your car"

"Wha-You lost m-How the fuck do you even lose an entire fucking car!," Dre spluttered

"It just happened! I got wasted at a party and I woke up and forgot what happened the night before. So I've looked every where but I can't remember where I parked the car. I'm sorry, Dre," Marshall exclaimed, eyes wide and practically begging for forgiveness

Dre tried his hardest to keep his demeanor stern yet; nevertheless all he could manage was a fondly exasperated shake of the head. He wasn't capable of holding a grudge against the kid when he was anxiously shifting from one foot to the other, hands clasped tightly in front of him. He could probably stab Dre in the chest and be forgiven in an instant by giving him those puppy eyes.

In the past few months, Dre had grown a tenderness for Marshall, that he never recalled feeling for anyone else. When it wasn't there, he yearned to see the charming smile that brightened his day and those dimples that drove him crazy. He'd also learnt to appreciate the smaller details, that he had missed the first time they had met, like the way he furrowed his eyebrows in concentration and the way he hid behind his hands to conceal his smile from the cameras.

Dre came to the conclusion that he was positively smitten with the younger man. That terrified him. If it ever were to come out that he felt that way towards another man, he would be ruined. The media would have a field day, his friends and fans would turn their backs on him and Slim would probably loathe him. Little did he know, he wasn't alone. Those feelings and thoughts were mutual.

* * *

 

"Are you done with that, sir?".

"Yes, thank you," Dre replied, nodding in gratitude to the overly cheerful waitress.

 _"Are you done with that, sir,"_ Slim repeated mockingly, batting his eyelashes dramatically behind her back.

"Shut up, man" Dre chuckled, "She'll hear you".

"So?" Marshall smirked, "It's not like that wasn't what the bitch was doing".

"Why'd you have to be such an asshole, Slim?" Dre laughed.

"It's true! Plus somebody needs to tell her grinch looking ass that she got lipstick on her teeth," Marshall retorted, the both of them bursting into peels of laughter, laughing harder when she turned to glared darkly at them.

"I think I may have pissed her off"

Dre merely nodded in agreement, rummaging through his pockets for his wallet, batting away the hands that tried to grab the bill.

"Dre, please. I ca-"

"Nope. I don't wanna hear it. I'll pay," Dre cut off, holding the check above his head as Marshall continues to try and seize hold of it.

Suddenly, they both stopped dead in their tracks, the fact that they were now sitting only inches apart hitting them both at the same time. They gazed into each others eyes, frozen in their spots. Both men inched a bit closer. They were sat so close, he could feel Slim's warm breath against his face.

However, just as suddenly as the moment happened, it ended. As the waitress waltzed back towards them, they promptly pulled away, casting their eyes away from each other. An awkward silence filled the air.

"It's getting late. I shou-I should go," Marshall stammered, rising to his feet and hastily bolting away. Dre remained sat in stillness, confusion written across his face.

'What the fuck just happened?'

* * *

 

"And the winner for the 'MTV Video Music Award' best new artist goes to...Eminem!"

The theater filled with applause. Dre noticed that for once, Marshall didn't bother suppressing his broad smile, grinning from ear to ear. He sauntered proudly onto the stage, greeting the presenters with hand shakes.

"First of all, I'd like to thank my mentor, Mr Dr. Dre, for giving me a chance when no one else did. I would not be here without you. Thank you," Marshall said, turning towards him and flashing him a grin.

Dre tuned the rest of the award show out, mind filled with thoughts of a certain blue-eyed protégé, until at long last, it was over and he found himself getting dragged into one of the spare rooms backstage.

"I won, Dre. I actually won!" Marshall exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

"I know! Congratulations, man," Dre replied, holding out his arm for a hand clap. Instead, Marshall threw his arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. He stood stiffly for a split second, before wrapping his arms around the smaller man's waist, relishing in the feeling of being able to hold him in his arms.

"Oh my god, i can't believe it. I won an MTV award!"

"You deserve it, you're amazing" Dre responded, blood rushing to his face in embarrassment the instance the words left his mouth.

Marshall pulled his arms away from his shoulders, eyebrows raised in surprise at the unexpected compliment and gave him a warm smile, "Thanks".

The air around them was suddenly struck with tension, the same tension they had felt at that restaurant a few weeks back. Dre's heart skipped a beat. Once again, there was only a couple of inches between them. Their breath seemed to be trapped in their throats and their eyes trailed to each others lips. They inched closer, and closer, until the gap between them was non-existent. Their lips met and it was like pure magic, as if time had stopped and the world around them ceased to exist. He urged himself to pull away before he lost himself, but he simply could not. The kiss was slow and sweet, emotions swirling around them, their lips moving in perfect sync.

Marshall was the first to pull away, taking several steps back. Lines of regret were etched across his face and he refused to meet Dre's eyes, "We can't be doing this. I have a wife Dre" 

"Okay, I understand," Dre nodded, failing miserably to keep the disappointment out of his tone. He turned his back without another word, briskly making his way out the door.

"Dre, Wait, hold up. Dre! Andre!" he heard Marshall calling out after him however he ignored his cries, the feeling of the other mans soft lips pressed against his, fresh on his mind.

* * *

 

Two weeks had passed since the MTV awards. They had silently agreed to not speak about the kiss, happily getting about their lives as if nothing had ever happened. Although, it was a fruitless effort trying to forget about it. When they had a conversation, laughed together, made music, hugged; the memory of that night was always there. Due to that, Marshall and Dre had been avoiding each other like the plague, only talking to each other when they had to and even then, their conversations were generally short and direct. 

A sharp, loud knock at the door pulled Dre away from his thoughts. He wrestled with the temptation to just ignore whoever it was, hoping he could get his point across and they'd leave, but his curiosity got the better of him and he got to his feet to see who it was. 

Marshall was stood outside his door, eyes swollen with tear tracks running down his face while leaning against the wall for support.

"Slim? What happened, here, come inside?" Dre exclaimed, grabbing a hold of the kids arm and gently tugging him inside. He reeked of vodka and was obviously struggling to keep his balance, resting most of his weight on Dre's side.

"She's gone" he mumbled, voice raspier than normal.

"Who's gone?"

"Kim," he replied, silent tears streaming down his face.

"Sh-she left me, Dre. After everything I gave- I gave her, after everything I did for her, she left!" he stumbled.

"I'm sorry"

"Why wasn't I enough for her? It's 'cause I'm ugly isn't it? That's why she went and s-slept with another man?"

"Of course not, Slim. You two just weren't meant for each other" Dre reasurred, guiding the drunken man in the direction of his bedroom.

"I fucking hate her!" he suddenly yelled, legs giving out from beneath him. Dre circled one arm underneath Marshall's thighs, picking him up bridal style and carrying him the rest of the way as the kid muttered incoherently to himself, placing him gently on his bed. 

"Do you think I'm ugly, Dre?" 

"I think you're beautiful," Dre answered, smiling comfortingly and sitting next to the miserable boy. 

"Do you want me?" Marshall slurred.

"What?"

"Do you want me?" he repeated, straddling Dre's thighs in a surprisingly fast manner, "Please say you want me. Nobody else does anymore, I'm unwanted"

"Slim, of course you're wanted, but right now you're drunk and don't know what you're talking about. How about you go to bed and we can talk about this in the morning," Dre offered, trying to pull Marshall's death grip off of him. 

"Dr-Dre fuck me. I need you to take my mind off of that two-faced bitch. Please fuck me?" he pleaded, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Kid, listen to me. You're drunk and you're going to regret this in the morning. Come on, just lay down, you need some sleep".

His eyes welled up with more tears as his bottom lip trembled, "You don't want me either?"

"You have no clue how much I want you. But not now. Not like this, you hear me. If you wake up tomorrow, sober, and you still want me, then I'm all yours. But for that to happen, you need to get some sleep. Understood?"

"Okay," Marshall nodded in understanding, finally releasing his hold on Dre and clambering off of his lap, "Will you lie down with me? Please?"

Dre hesitated before climbing into the bed next to the blond, wrapping an arm around his shoulders when he lay his head on Dre's chest. 

"Dre?"

"Yeah"

"Thank you"

* * *

 

As the sun rose, light leaked into the bedroom through the curtains that had been left ajar. Marshall burrowed himself in the soft sheets, taking comfort in the warmth. He slowly blinked open one eye, flinching at the sudden light. For some reason, his head was pounding and every bit of movement agonized it. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, peering at the...unfamiliar bed sheets. Suddenly he sat up and took in his surroundings, everything from the previous night coming back to him. He was alone.

'Shit'

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this took so long to update. I will try to update more often.  
> And thanks for all the lovely comments :)

Marshall paced a hole into the ground, chewing at his already bitten down fingernails in distress. How could he possibly face Dre now?

That night at the restaurant was where it had all begun. At that time, he couldn't believe he was about to kiss, not just another man, but the man who happened to be his mentor. And at the awards when their lips had met for what felt like hours yet, in reality was just a mere few seconds. He recalled the way the face of his wife had flashed through his mind and he felt he owed it to his daughter, if not anything else, to remain loyal to the woman he once thought he loved. Although, he felt a spark between himself and Dre; a spark he hadn't felt for anyone else. Not even Kim.

For years, Marshall had been questioning his sexuality. Ever since the sight of both women and men would catch his eye at clubs or parties. He'd been brought up with the idea that homosexuality was wrong getting drilled into his head, the act of being attracted to the same sex painted in a dirty and sinful light.

The realization that he had developed feelings for the other man terrified him. If the public ever found out, is career would come crashing to the ground. His friends and family would probably turn their backs on him. From where he grew up, this type of thing could get you killed. So he had successfully tried to ignore it. However, at times, that was proving itself to be difficult. At simple moments, like when certain waitresses were getting too flirty for his liking, he was hit with the undesirable feelings of envy, temptation, _perhaps even lust._

The sound of his cellphone ringing snapped him out of his thoughts. He fished it out of his pocket, longing for it to be Dre so he could attempt to make a sense out of everything running through his mind. 

"Em, what's going on? It's Paul. Good news!"

"What's up?" Marshall replied, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone.

"I've found a brand new artist. I'm telling you man, he's the next best thing! His name's 50 Cent. He's from New York," his manager answered.

"Yeah, yeah that's cool. Listen, i got a lot of my mind right now man, can you call me back?"

"Okay sure, I can-" he hung up the phone before Paul could finish his sentence, crumbling in a heap on the bed with a groan. He could definitely feel a migraine forming, and not solely because of his hangover. 

'How the fuck am i supposed to fix this?'

* * *

 

It was exactly one hour, twenty-two minutes and fifteen seconds before he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. And yes, he counted. Marshall leaped off the bed, desperate to get the many thoughts off of his mind. 

He had to contain himself from sprinting down the stairs in record speed. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he calmly made his way down the stairs, trying to play it off as if he hadn't been on the verge of a second breakdown all morning, "What's up, Dre"

"Hey," Dre responded, an awkward vibe settling in the air.

"Where were you?" Marshall asked.

"I had to go to the studio," he mumbled curtly.

Marshall gave up with the small talk, bursting to find out the older man's point of view, "Dre, I need to talk abo-"

"Have you written the final song yet? For the new album? Jimmy's bitching about the deadline," Dre interrupted, turning his back to him and heading into the opposite direction.

"Yes I have, but Dre can we jus-"

"Good, we can go to the studio later then. The album deadline's in a week"

"Okay, sure" Marshall muttered, mostly to himself as Dre had already walked away from him.

* * *

 

He tried again in less than half an hour. He decided that the best way to go about it was to be as direct as possible, no small talk or dawdling involved. 

"Dre, you know what happen-"

"How's your little girl doing?" Dre asked, throwing him off guard.

"What?"

"Hailie. How's she doing?" 

"Oh, she's doing good. She's my little princess, man. For her fourth birthday I rented out this huge hall and we invited all her friends. My baby was strutting around the place with this plastic tiara and this big, pink princess dress i brought her. It was fucking expensive, but only the best for my little girl, you know what I mean? Next year, I think-" he paused mid-sentence, blood rushing to his face when he realized he was rambling, "Sorry"

"No, it's okay. Keep going, what's your plan next year?" Dre encouraged, a smile spreading across his face at how genuinely happy Marshall appeared while talking about his daughter.

It was only an hour after that conversation when he realized that Dre had been deliberately avoiding the topic, ignoring his question to instead bring up something that Marshall would obviously get distracted by. 

'Why is he avoiding this?'

* * *

 

"Dre. You have been avoiding me all day. We need to talk about what happened last night, what happened at the music awards and what is happening between us. Please? I can't get it off my mind unless we talk about it"

"Sorry, Em. I can't right now, I've got phone calls to make"

"How long are you planning on doing this? How long are you going to ignore that anything happened?" he questioned, fed up with Dre dodging everything he said.

"I'm not ignoring anything, I'm just busy. Why don't we talk about this later?" Dre insisted.

"Busy my ass! Can we talk about it now, please?”

"Marshall, not now. I'm not ready to talk about it yet," Dre stated with a half-hearted smile, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I promise you we will talk about it later, just let me think about it for a while. Let's go to the studio now. It's obvious we've both got shit we need to take our minds off of for a while"

* * *

'Aww, look at daddy's baby girl

That's daddy's baby, little sleepy head

Yesterday I changed your diaper

Wiped you and powdered you

How did you get so big?'

 A tender smile graced his face, Marshall's soft tone filling him with a content and warm feeling. He could tell that this was about to be a pleasant, sweet song about Hailie that would be the perfect way to level out the emotion in the album. Little did he know, he couldn't be more wrong. 

 'Quit crying, bitch! Why do you always make me shout at you?!  
How could you just leave me and love him out the blue?!  
Oh, what's the matter, Kim? Am I too loud for you?!  
Too bad, bitch! You're gonna finally hear me out this time!'

Dre froze with his mouth agape, shocked by the sudden change. The features on Marshall's face hardened, an image of pure anger.  Despite the distance between where he was sat and where Marshall was stood inside the recording booth, he could see the way his fists were clenched by his sides and how his whole body was trembling. 

'Kim, Kim! Why don't you like me?  
You think I'm ugly, don't you? No, you think I'm ugly  
 Get the fuck away from me! Don't touch me!  
I hate you! I hate you! I swear to God, I hate you!  
Oh my God, I love you! How the fuck could you do this to me?!  
 How the fuck could you do this to me?!'

He could see the tears forming in the younger man's eyes. With each word, he could hear his voice wavering a bit more, cracking every now and then with a raw, livid and pained energy. The hateful lyrics were spat with an enraged fire of fury. He could almost feel Marshall's betrayal and hurt for himself. 

As he sung the second chorus, the unshed tears now streamed down his face. The anger that Marshall had clearly kept boiling inside him, was releasing itself in the form of a venomous song.

'So long, bitch, you did me so wrong  
I don't w-wanna go on  
Living in this world without you  
So long, bitch, you did me-'

As the final chorus played out, Marshall's voice broke and he had to choke out the final few words he could manage. Fresh tears ran freely down his face. He could distantly hear the music getting turned off as his knees buckled and he sank to the floor, wracked by ragged sobs. Through the tears, blurring his vision, he could make out Dre striding towards him. Strong arms wrapped themselves around him, letting him cry onto his shoulder. Dre held him in silence, rocking him slowly as his tears soaked his t-shirt.

As his cries died down, he wiped his tears away and took deep breaths, trying to pull himself together. "Fuck. I've been real emotional recently, haven't I?"

"It's fine," Dre chuckled, "It's healthy to let your emotions out. It might be a dumbass question, but are you okay? Do you want me to get you anything or call someone, like Proof or Paul? Should I get you some water or so-"

"Dre. I'm fine, "Marshall interjected, warmed by his concern.

"Good. Well do you want me to drive you back to your hotel? I can hang around for a while. I mean, if you want me to. I can leave you alone if you-"

"Dre, relax. I'd like that. Let's get out of here"

The journey to Marshall's hotel was silent. Not the awkward silence, that they had gotten all too familiar with but a comforting silence, both men lost in their own thoughts. 

After they had shut the bedroom door, Dre turned to him, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I promise you, I'm going to be fine, " Marshall assured, flattered by the sincerity shining in Dre's eyes. "Could we talk about what happened now? Please? I can't sleep with that shit on my mind"

"Em, I don't know what to say. I don't think you understand it fully, I've wanted you since the day I laid my eyes on you. But I don't want to be your goddamn drunken booty call or second choice"

"You're not my drunken booty call or my second choice! I swear it to you, Dre" Marshall denied.

"Yeah right! You said it in that song you just fucking recorded, 'I hate you, oh my God, I love you'. You still love that bitch, Marshall! What so, when she's around you're all hers but the second she left your ass, you're at my doorstep?" Dre ranted, finally releasing his pent up thoughts and emotions.

"No! What I said in that song meant nothing. There is nothing left between me and Kim, I feel nothing for her. If anything, I fucking hate her"

Dre simply scoffed in reply, turning his back, ready to walk away again. However, Marshall grasped his wrist before he could take a step.

"You said that if I want you when I'm sober, you're all mine. I want you, Dre"

As the silence drew on, Marshall pressed his lips against Dre's. It wasn't unsure or innocent, like the kiss they had shared before. It was a fiery, open-mouthed, bordering on sexual kiss. He soaked it all up. The way their bodies melted against each other. The way their lips fitted perfectly, like a puzzle. It was addictive.

They only pulled away once they both needed air. Dre's breath quickened, as did his. A blazing lust flashed in both their eyes.

The next thing he knew, Marshall was being pushed onto the bed, legs hanging from the side while Dre leaned over him. He hardly had the chance to react before Dre started placing soft kisses up and down his neck, hands running along his body, exploring. Their lips met once again, tongues battling for dominance. There was a hungry and desperate air around them. Marshall got lost in the kiss, thoughts of his ex now non-existent.

* * *

 When he woke up that morning, just like the day before, light leaked through the curtains that had been left ajar. Just like yesterday morning, Marshall burrowed into something, taking comfort in the warmth. However, it wasn't unfamiliar bed sheets or even familiar bed sheets for that matter. It was something...or somebody else. This time he wasn't alone. Dre was laid next to him, one arm wrapped tightly around Marshall's shoulders while he also slowly rose from his sleep.

As they threw on the same clothes from the night before, a troubled look crossed Marshall's face.

"Dre, what does this mean?"

"I don't know. But I definitely want to do that again," Dre answered with a smirk.

A blush colored Marshall's cheeks as he asked, "So like, friends with benefits?"

"Yeah. We can be friends with benefits"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...I’m really bad at updating on time. Sorryyy (:
> 
> Another disclaimer: obviously I haven’t met any of the people involved in this story and therefore the portrayal of their characters are purely fictional in this.

Their sexual escapades became routine: act as if they were simply friends in front of others and never let their eyes linger on each other for too long, grasp at whatever opportunity they could get to spend some time alone together and then behind closed doors, they would be all over each other. There weren't supposed to be any strings attached. So why did Dre feel a longing for more every single time Marshall slipped out of the bed with a muttered 'bye' after they spent an erotic night together?

They obviously couldn't be together seriously. Could they? What if it ever got revealed to the public? He'd heard many stories, stories from friends, the news, the radio. Stories about gay people getting mercilessly killed in the streets, simply because they were attracted to the same sex. If something like that happened to Marshall because of him, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. Plus, could he risk his years long career? Could Marshall risk his brand new career? And then there was Marshall's little girl to think about. That bitch of an ex wife would definitely bring up his sexuality in court to try to get full custody. Would Marshall even want to be in a relationship with him?

His mind was racing with the seemingly endless questions running through his head. He could feel a migraine forming. The craving for a large glass of whiskey grew, or maybe something stronger, like a joint. Yet, he couldn't even get an aspirin due to this tedious and lengthy meeting the label had scheduled to talk about the new artist Slim was signing. He didn't know much about the guy, just that Marshall was real excited. He had babbled on about it for a good half an hour the last time they'd met, although Dre had only taken in about a quarter of what had been said, too captivated by the cute dimples that formed on Marshall's face when he smiled broadly.

Speaking of Marshall, said man had been eyeing him throughout the whole meeting. He even had the nerve to wink at him a couple of times, a childishly mischievous gleam in his eye. 

"So, Mr Young, what are your thoughts on the sudden decrease in album sales caused by illegally downloading music?"

He forced himself to pull his eyes away from Marshall, realizing that everyone's attention was now focused on him. 

"Uh, well you know, I...I actually believe that we can solve this problem with the help of-oh!" he started, cutting himself off with a gasp. The Interscope staff turned to him with looks of surprise. He shot them a sheepish expression as he tried to contain the moan that was dangerously close to leaving his mouth. Marshall feigned a look of innocence, despite the hand that was slowly creeping up Dre's thigh, stroking with a touch as light as a feather. 

"Are you okay,  _Mr Young?"_   Marshall asked, 'concern' flashing across his face. Dre could see right through the 'I'm-just-an-innocent-little-angel-act'. 

"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking,  _Mr Mathers,_ " he bit out in a strained tone, trying his hardest to ignore the hand now rubbing against his crotch. 

The attention in the room, thankfully, withdrew from Dre however, the hand hidden underneath the table remained.

"Stop it!" Dre hissed underneath his breath.

"Stop what?" Marshall whispered back.

"Don't act dumb, you know exactly what you're doing. Stop it".

"I have no clue what you're on about," Marshall murmured. He even had the audacity to put on a show of tilting his head to the side in confusion!

He only pulled his hand away when there was a question directed to him, leaving Dre hot, bothered and horny as shit. A hundred different scenarios passed through his mind of himself pinning Marshall against the nearest surface and taking him, right then and there. 

As the minutes ticked by, he felt personally victimized by the clock. He had to pull his gaze away from the hands of the clock several times, each torturous second passing slower than the last one. But at long last, they called it a day and Dre shot up from his slumped position, desperate to get as far away from this meeting as he could.

He strolled out of the room and down the hallway without so much as a backward glance, stopping at the first hidden corner he could find, fully aware that Marshall would be hot at his heels. 

"What the fuck were you thinking? Anyone could have seen us!" Dre rounded on him the second Marshall turned the corner.

"It's really a shame if they didn't. Their faces would have been fucking hilarious! Would've really spiced things up. We should just blurt it out that we’ve been having sex for the past few weeks" said Marshall, shaking with suppressed chuckles.

 "Oh my God, the press it gonna have a field day. Yo, who knows TMZ's number? Let's come out and tell them everything before ‘someone’ else does. Or we may as well invite them to watch us fuck, I mean, all attention is good attention, right?" Dre rambled, almost hysterically.

Marshall laughed outright at that, "Relax. If anyone did see, they'll either question their own sanity or get their eyes checked. Maybe both".

"You're going to be the fucking death of me one day" Dre sighed, shaking his head in resignation.

Marshall stepped forward, lips still curled in a humorous smile. He wrapped both arms around Dre's shoulders, standing on his toes so that he could gaze into his dark brown eyes, "I'm sorry", the laughter lingering in his eyes clearly displaying that he wasn't apologetic at all. 

"Sure," Dre deadpanned, wrapping his own arms around Marshall's waist nevertheless, "Bitch, I know you. If you were actually sorry, you wouldn't say 'I'm sorry'. You'd do some thoughtful shit to let me know you're sorry".

"Touché," he smirked, "But it's so much fun watching you eye fucking me in a room filled with other people".

"Oh, yeah?" Dre breathed into his ear as he maneuvered them so that Marshall's back was pressed against the wall, Dre leaning over him.

"Hell yeah. And then I imagine you actually fucking me which definitely makes those boring ass meetings more... _interesting_ "  

 "Fuck," Dre groaned, "You need to stop doing this shit to me".

"My apologies. Are you going to punish me,  _Mr Young?_ _"_ Marshall purred, shivering at the sight of the hungry desire etched on his face.

"Let's leave this place," Dre suggested, the way he was looking at Marshall betraying every dirty little thing running through his mind.

The ride home was a silent one, both men anticipating the moment they could step inside the safety of Marshall's hotel room and finish off what they'd started in the hallway. All they needed to hear was the click of the door closing before they were all over each other, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue. They were so engrossed in one another, neither took the time to look at their surroundings. At least not until a high-pitched shriek sounded from the other side of the room. In a split second, Marshall and Dre leaped away from each other.

"Marshall!" a woman's voice yelled in shock.

Marshall froze, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Mom?"

* * *

 The first thing Dre noticed about Debbie Mathers, was the fact that she was a very gaunt looking woman. With naturally pursed lips, sunken in cheeks and eyes that seemed to stare straight into your soul. She was also rather small. Even with high heels on, she barely made it to Marshall's shoulder, who wasn't exactly tall himself. At least he knew where Marshall got his lithe figure from now. As he focused on the two of them, he noticed that Marshall and his mom barely shared any similarities at all. The only thing they had in common was their eyes. Yet, their eyes were also a complete contrast. Marshall's were warm and joyful and expressive. Debbie's were empty, cold and practically heartless.

"Mom? What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in here?"

She stood stock-still, mouth opening and closing, almost comically, in disbelief.

For a few tense moments, no one said a word. And then something seemed to snap. Debbie staggered back, looking as though she was seconds from collapsing. Both men jumped forward to stop the older woman from hitting the floor however, when Marshall went to grab one of her arms, she reared back with a hateful and disgusted look directed at them that neither men could ignore. Marshall also flinched back, as though he had been slapped. At that moment, Dre despised the woman stood in front of him for putting that look on Marshall's face.

"Wha-Why are yo-What are you doing? Are you high?" she spluttered in a nasally voice. Dre thought it was fitting. An ugly voice to fit an ugly woman with an ugly personality. 

"No, I'm not," Marshall denied.

"Don't lie to me you fucking brat! There's no other way. There's no other way you could be-be a-" she couldn't even finish her sentence, a sick look appearing on her face.

"But mom, I'm no-"

"Don't-don't call me that" she sneered unpleasantly.

"Okay,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet like a kicked puppy. The sight of the younger man made Dre's heartbreak and he had the sudden urge to chuck the heaviest object he could find at Marshall's 'mother'.

"I-I didn't raise my son like that. My son ain't a-a  _homosexual",_   she spat the word out with venom, as if it was some sort of curse, "I knew from the day you were born that you'd get involved with these nasty, sinful things. I hope you burn in the depths of he-"

"That's enough! Leave before I forget my fucking manners and force you to," Dre snarled, hating the way tears sprung to Marshall's eyes. She glared at them both scathingly for a few more seconds before stalking off without another word. 

Dre let Marshall have a few moments to himself to gather his thoughts, the hurt across his face making Dre's gut clench. 

"Come here," he said in a soft tone, pulling Marshall close to him. There was a broken look in his eye, a look Dre had last seen when Marshall found out Kim had been cheating. Unlike back then, he wasn't crying. But he was trembling and he looked like he was on the verge of tears. So Dre ran his hand in soothing circles across his back, whispering comforting words to him as Marshall clutched tightly him.

Once he was a little more certain that Marshall wouldn't push himself into another breakdown, he lead them both to the couch, letting Marshall nestle against his side.

"I know it's probably the most useless question in the world, but are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Marshall croaked, "I kind of always knew that would happen if she found out anyway"

Dre couldn't even put into words how much he hated the resigned sound in Marshall's voice, "It shouldn't be like that. It shouldn't make a difference".

All he got in return was a bitter smile and a mumbled, "I agree".

"She's not really a bad mom. Or I don't think she is. She didn't have much but she tried her best at raising me and my brother and maybe I should be grateful but...I just can’t. She could have tried harder. She didn't have to be such a bitch all the time. She could have gotten up and gotten herself help for whatever health shit she was struggling with. That's why I talk about her so much in the latest album. I just wanted her to feel some of the pain she put me through. All those nights I watched her drug herself or she drugged me".

Dre didn't interrupt or ask any questions. He sat in silence and let the other man say whatever was on his mind. Because he knew that that was what Marshall needed. 

"You know what? I don't want to talk or think about her anymore,” Marshall decided, burying his face further into Dre's collarbone, "Oh, shit. We were about to fuck before she interrupted, weren't we? Do you want to carry on? I know the mood's kinda been ruined"

“I don't think either of us are up to it right now. Why don't we watch a movie or something instead?"

"I'd like that,” Marshall answered, hoping that his smile would tell Dre how much he appreciated him at that moment. And that's how they spent the rest of the night. Cuddled under a blanket together, watching movies after movies with Marshall's sarcastic commentary. They both fell asleep with content expressions on their faces, taking comfort in the presence of the other.

* * *

 If looks could kill, there would be a man lying dead on the ground. Dead with ten bullet, six stab wounds, only half a body and probably a black eye. The man in question was oblivious to the death glare aimed at him. He was standing, in perfect condition, with his arm slung around Marshall's shoulders, far too little space between the two for Dre's liking.

Ever since Dre had walked into the backstage area of the concert and seen an unknown man muttering secretive things into Marshall's ear, making him laugh and smile, he had been silently seething. The unknown man was nothing special, mind you. Dirty clothes and tacky jewelry. From what Dre had heard, spoke with a slight slur. Something about getting shot nine times and what a hero he is and what the fuck ever. Chiseled features, a fit figure, tall. Certainly attractive enough for Marshall. And he was young too, younger than Marshall. Much younger than Dre.

He wordlessly scolded himself as his thoughts took that turn. It would do him no good to sit there wallowing in self pity. So he got to his feet and strolled to where they were sitting. 

"Hey, what's up Dre. I didn't know you were here yet," Marshall said before turning to the new guy, "Curtis, meet Dre. Obviously you already know him".

'Curtis' turned his irritatingly arrogant smirk on him, the smirk that seemed to have a permanent place of his face. He held his hand up to Dre for a handshake, "Yo, what's up, Dre. My name's F-" 

"Yeah, cool," Dre cut off curtly, ignoring his outstretched hand in favor of addressing Marshall, "Can I talk to you in private real quick?". 

"Of course," Marshall nodded, turning to 'Curtis' again, "I'll be right b-"

Dre grew impatient, grabbing Marshall by the wrist and dragging him away. Somewhere they could discuss this in private. 

"Who the fuck is Curtis?" he snarled the second the bathroom door closed.

"Curtis Jackson. Remember, 50 Cent. He's the new rapper I'm signing to Shady Records," Marshall explained, "Could you get off of my arm, you're hurting me"

"I don't like that son of a bitch," Dre hissed, releasing his grip on Marshall.

"Why not? You haven't even talked to him yet" 

"I don't know. I just don't like him". Dre was unable to meet his eye, taking a sudden interest in his shoes.

"That's bullshit and we both know it. There must be a reason. You've barely said a word to him yet!"

"Tell him to back off a bit! He's too touchy and I don't fucking like it"

"Why do you even care? It's not like I'm your fucking boyfriend or something,” Marshall retorted angrily.

"Because I don't like the way he's looking at you! I don't like way he's looking at you, or talking to you or touching you!" 

Marshall stopped in his tracks, the previous anger turning into something that he couldn't quite identify, "You're jealous".

Dre himself looked shocked at Marshall's revelation, "What? No I'm not! Why the fuck would I? Like you said, I'm not your fucking boyfriend".

"Don't deny it, you are jealous"

"Okay, you're right. I'm jealous. So what? Does it matter?” Dre asked indignantly.

Marshall stopped to think for a second before the tension left his body, "No, it doesn't". He leaned against Dre's chest, lifting his face to plant a soft kiss on his jawline.

"Relax, he's just a rapper I'm signing to my label. There's nothing going on between us. Plus the guy is as straight as they come, you have nothing to be worried about," and then he leaned in again pressing another light kiss on Dre's cheek, whispering so gently he almost didn't hear him, "Besides, he's got nothing on you".

And then Marshall turned his back and left, leaving Dre in a state of utter confusion. Which had actually been a very common emotion in the time he'd known Marshall.

'What does this mean?'


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this took ages to update. I'm not exactly the best at updating on time. 
> 
> And on a side note, in the story I've realized that I'm accidentally skipping through several months, based on album releases, songs etc, so lets all just ignore that and imagine that there isn't that many months between each chapter :)

“No, absolutely not”

“Please” Marshall begged, “They’ll think I’m joking”

"That's what you said last time. Now half the world thinks you've sold your soul to the devil," Dre deadpanned.

“It’s just a couple of lines. No one will pay attention to it”

Dre let out an exasperated sigh, massaging his throbbing forehead. “Slim, you’re a headache waiting to happen,” Dre groaned, although, they could both hear the ‘fine’ hidden behind his words. He tried to feel irritated but the happy smile on Marshall’s face made it worth it.

"Great, I’ll say my line and then I’ll signal for you to say yours,” said Marshall, virtually buzzing with excited energy.

Dre simply let out another sigh, turning on the music and letting the beat fill the room.

"I'm out of the closet, I've been lyin' my ass off,

All this time me and Dre been fuckin' with hats off'

With a grin, Marshall sent a thumbs up. Dre rolled his eyes however he compliantly inched closer to the mic, "Suck it, Marshall"

Marshall sent another thumbs up, shaking with suppressed mirth. He carried on rapping until the beat died down, still snickering as he walked out of the booth. He hoisted himself onto the desk in front of Dre, that childish beam plastered across his face while his legs swung back and forth. Dre wrapped his arms around his lithe waist, pulling the smaller man closer against him so that his legs were positioned on both of Dre's sides. He kept one hand securely gripping Marshall's waist, while he used the other to pull his face closer, foreheads pressed against each other, "You're impossible"

Marshall gasped in mock hurt, pouting at Dre, "You know you love me!"

"Yeah, sure," Dre answered sarcastically, the curling of his lips hinting at a fond smile. 

"Don't use that sarcastic tone with me, young man! Have I taught you nothing about respect?" Marshall tutted, laughter dancing in his eyes. 

"I think I need that lesson again, baby," he murmured, gently biting Marshall's lower lip. He could almost see the air around them drop from playful to lustful in the blink of an eye. 

 The sound of footsteps drawing nearer made them swiftly pull away, as though there was a force pulling them apart. They regretfully averted their gazes away from each other as a loud voice could be heard from outside the door, "Yo, Marshall, how's the song coming alo-", the voice trailed off when his eyes met the sight in front of him. 

A tense silence filled the room. Both men shifted uncomfortably under the suspicious pair of eyes. Marshall anxiously cleared his throat, "Yo, what's up Proof?"

Proof was probably the D12 member Dre was closest to, or even spent that much time with (apart from Marshall himself, of course). Perhaps it was because of the younger man's bubbly and cheerful personality, or maybe it was because Proof was and always had been the closest to Marshall. The latter made dread well up in Dre's heart. Proof was no fool, and he could certainly put two and two together. And what if he reacted similarly to Marshall's mom? It would ruin him. Marshall could flaunt a 'just don't give a fuck' attitude all he liked, but Dre knew better. He knew that Proofs opinion as his best friend meant a lot to him.

Proof clicked his tongue. "So...are we gonna continue sitting in silence or do one of you want to explain what's going on?", he asked, gesturing between Marshall and Dre. 

Dre started stammering out an answer, "We were just...you know, we just-"

"I'm bi," Marshall cut off bluntly, "And me and Dre, we've...well, it's complicated". Marshall was met with two shocked expressions. As the awfully awkward silence stretched on, Dre tried to figure out why Marshall had come out to Proof so forwardly, no hesitation in his tone. Especially after the disaster encounter that was his mother's reaction. However, he didn't have much time to ponder it, seeing as Proof seemed to be getting over his shock.

”So are you guys like boyfriends or some shit?”

Marshall turned to Dre, neither men knowing how to answer that question “Not exactly. We just- like I said. It’s complicated”

”Em, when is shit not complicated with you?” Proof teased.

”Bitch, my relationship with your mom ain't complicated,” Marshall hits back, laughing at the exaggeratedly affronted expression on Proof's face. From there, Dre tuned out the rest of the conversation, letting the two carry on with their playful banter. He only tuned back in again when Marshall finally asked the question that had clearly been weighing him down, "So, are you okay with...all of this?"

"Yeah, I'm fine with it. You're my best friend, I don't give a shit about who you like. As long as you're happy"

Marshall looked bashful at the sudden show of sentimental emotions, "Aw, Proof, you're gonna make me blush" 

"Shut up," Proof smirked, "but I'm being serious. It doesn't matter who you like and fuck anyone who says it does". The moment was broken by the sound of a phone ringing from the next room, Marshall rolling his eyes as he begrudgingly got up to answer it. 

Once he was out of sight, Dre turned to Proof, “you weren’t saying that for the sake of it? You genuinely don’t care?”

”Of course I wasn’t, man. Why would I care? Marshall’s like a brother to me, I honestly couldn’t give less of a shit”

”Well, his mom wasn’t exactly supportive”

”Shit. Was it that bad?” Proof questioned. Dre merely nodded. 

“Take care of him”

”I will, always” Dre promised, not just vowing it to Proof but to himself as well.

”And if you break that boy's heart, I swear to God, you can shove that ‘I'm a gangsta from Compton’ shit right up your ass ‘cause you’ll be scared of my goddamn name by the time I’m done with you. Capeesh?” he snarled darkly, in a completely serious tone.

“Understood,” Dre nodded, admittedly surprised by this side of the man he hadn't seen that much before. 

Proofs stern expression transformed into the joyful grin he had on before, “Good to know,” he chirped before turning his back and plopping down by Marshall's abandoned notebook. 

Two hours later, Proof took his leave, giving Marshall a hug and warning Dre to remember what he had said in a hushed tone. Marshall settled back down at Dre's side, resting his head on the taller man's shoulder, letting out the sigh of relief he had been containing, "Thank fuck he took it well"

"Why did you tell him? I mean, after your mom I wouldn't be surprised if you just lied to him," Dre asked, voice laced with curiosity.

"I can't lie to him. Not to Proof. He's stuck by me through too much for me to be able to lie to him about this," Marshall explained. Dre nodded in understanding. A sudden thought came to him and the words came tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them, "I want to take you out"

"What, now?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Do you mean like...a date?"

"I don't know. I gues-I mean...yeah. Yeah, a date" Dre stammered, trying to push down his foolish nerves.

"Okay, sure. Let me go and get ready"

* * *

 Marshall ended up trying on just about every single outfit he owned, cursing his less than sizely variety of clothing. He silently berated himself for acting like a high school girl on her first date. He's a grown ass man who's too far from the point of stressing over something as trivial as what to wear to hang out with a close friend. Although, he ignored the pesky little voice in his head taunting him over the fact that it meant a lot more than that.

"Why is the only thing I own over-sized t-shirts?" he grumbled to himself.

He knew that an actual date probably went against the 'no-strings-attached' rules. He also knew that the way the smallest things reminded him of Dre or the way he found himself missing him when they weren't together also went against the friends with benefits rule book. The realization that half of his closet was filled with Dre's clothes that he had 'borrowed' should have been enough to clue him into the fact that his relationship with his mentor had gone a lot further than a normal friendship. And in all honesty, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Hooking up was risky enough, too risky. Getting too attached was even riskier. If the media got a single whiff of it, they would both be done for. And could they handle it? Could they handle the pressure of constantly having to duck behind curtains and closed doors in fear of being discovered? Because an actual relationship was so much more than simply being friends in the public eye and feeling a...connection for each other in the bed. It was too deep to be easy to hide. 

That similar pattern of thoughts was cut off by the sound of a knock at the door. The butterflies in his stomach intensified. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, trying to pull himself together, 'You're being ridiculous. Get yourself together’

Dre was stood behind the door, sheepishly staring at his feet. He found it oddly comforting to know that Dre was just as nervous as he was.

“You look good. One of mine?” Dre smirked, nodding at the hoodie. Of course, the one hoodie he threw on without much thought happened to be one of Dre’s. He could hardly tell the difference, seeing as all his normal clothes positively engulfed him anyway. 

A faint blush colored his cheeks, “Yeah, thanks. Where are we going?"

"You have to wait and see," Dre answered with an amused smile.

"But I wanna know where we're going" Marshall groaned.

"Tough. It's a surprise" Dre replied, steering him to the car. 

"But I don't like surprises," he whined with a pout.

"The puppy dog eyes are not going to work, you'll find out when we get there"

"But if you tell me where we're go-"

"-No. Stop pouting, we'll get there soon"

* * *

 

"You brought me to a beach?"

The beach was hidden from sight by a steep cliff. It was one of the beaches you see in the adverts for holidays but never in real life, or so he thought. The sand was like a soft, golden blanket underneath their feet and the dazzling ocean was several pure shades of blue, shining in the setting sun. A few feet away from them sat a picnic blanket fully equipped with a basket of food and candlelight. Yup, definitely went against the 'no-strings-attached' rules.

"Yeah. I know it's cliche as fuck and probably over the top but barely anybody knows it's here. I found it with my brothers and sister when we were younger and we used to come down her a lot. I would have taken you to a restaurant or cinema or something but I know you hate the paparazzi. If you want we can still get a reservation at the-"

Marshall shook his head fondly and leaned up to cut him off by brushing his lips softly against Dre's, "It's perfect"

They made their way to the picnic blanket hand in hand, Dre leading him forward. They talked, ate, laughed. Discussed any topic that came to mind; childhoods, fathers, religion, whether pineapple belonged on pizza or not, small arguments over hip hop like whether Nas or Jay-Z is a stronger rapper. It was honestly pleasant.

"So how's the business going?" asked Dre. 

"Well, there's my new album. We're also gonna start filming 8 mile soon so I need to record a soundtrack for that. And I need to help produce Curtis' new album as well"

"He hasn't been fired yet?" Dre scowled darkly. 

"Nope. You two need to start getting along. How many fights have we had to break up? Seven? Eight? It's ridiculous, you're acting like kids. And I would know, I have one back at home"

Dre's scowl disappeared at the mention of Hailie. It had been months since he'd last seen the little girl but then again, far too much time had passed since Marshall had had more contact than a simple phone call with her as well, "You miss her, don't you?"

"Everyday, man" Marshall nodded with a smile that didn't quite reach his eye, "the divorce is finalized, I just got to get past these custody battles and shit and I'll have her back"

"Don't you get lonely?" Dre asked as he pulled a bottle of red wine out of the basket, pouring it into two glasses.

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, fame is lonely enough as it is. But Marshall, you live alone and you don't seem to have many friends outside of the rap scene" Dre explained, choosing his words carefully.

"Yeah but sometimes lonely is good, it means I can get more work done. Besides, I don't need anymore friends. The guys are enough company for me"

"Wow, you don't consider me a friend now? Fuck you," Dre joked, dramatically placing a hand on his heart and using the other to snatch the packet of cheetos out of Marshall's arms, “Guess you won't be needing the cheetos  _I_ brought you"

"Hey! Give them back, bitch," Marshall laughed, practically climbing on top of Dre in an attempt to grab the packet, "Don't get all fucking worked up, I meant I consider you more than a friend"

Dre froze, his grip on the cheetos loosening. Marshall grabbed them before rolling off of Dre, settling back down contentedly. The words played itself again and again in his head, like a broken record. 

"Marshall?"

"Yeah?"

"I've been thinking and you know what, I'm just gonna say it. I like you more than a friend, or friends with benefits," he took a deep breath and looked up to meet Marshall's eye, "So will you be my boyfriend?"

The following silence was deafening. It was impossible to read the emotions in Marshall's expression so Dre chose to avert his gaze down to his lap instead, dreading the rejection he could sense coming.

"Course I will" 

It was said so nonchalantly and lightly that It was Dre's turn to sit back in silent surprise for a few moments, taken aback by the unexpected response.

"What?"

"Yes, I will be your boyfriend," Marshall repeated.

"Wait...are you sure?" he questioned, tone laced with doubt.

"I'm certain"

"But are you one-hundred percent certain?"

"If you don't believe my answer, why ask me the question in the first place?" Marshall teased, climbing on top of Dre again and straddling his lap, "Yes, I'm one-hundred percent certain that I want to be your boyfriend"

Their foreheads were pressed against each other and their lips were only an inch apart, brushing against the others' as gently as a feather. 

"You're being serious?" Dre asked uncertainly.

"One-hundred percent serious," Marshall replied with a grin, shifting himself even closer to him. Their lips met, exactly like they had done hundreds of times before, however, every single time felt like the first time to Dre. 

"You know, shit's gonna get so much riskier now" Marshall whispered, arms tightening around Dre's shoulders.

"You're worth the risk"

The joyful beam on Marshall's face made that cheesy comment worth it. 

"Thanks. We're going to have to be twice as careful now. If the media finds out we'll be ruined"

"We'll be fine, we just need to keep it a secret"

 


End file.
